


Untitled

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Pizza Boy Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is THAT pizza boy that walks into your dorm without permission. But dude, it's totally your fault for blasting your music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first Teen Wolf fic I've ever written, and it's Sciles and it's AU and I'm insecure as hell about it. Be gentle, kids.

Finals week was officially kicking Scott McCall’s ass. Not that every other week of his first semester of college didn’t do that too, just that finals week was being particularly ruthless about it. He had about seven essays he had to work on, he had five written exams coming up, and a practical for his biology lab.

He’d known what he was getting himself into when he decided to take a full course load and then some, but he had made such a show of telling his mom he’d be capable of it so even once he realized he was beyond fucked, he couldn’t drop any of his courses. Anyway, that so wasn’t the point right now.

The point right now was that he was four pages into his ten page report on the history of steer breeding in the United States and there was no way in hell he was going to get any further without eating. But seeing as there was no food in his apartment, he was going to have to order out.

After quite a bit of rifling through his papers atop his desk, he finally located last Sunday’s paper, featuring a coupon for a local pizza joint offering a two for one special. Seeing as he’d also need to be feeding himself for the rest of the week, Scott figured this was his best bet. Unless it wound up being like every other time he ordered pizza, and he just ate all of it in one sitting.

He flopped onto his bed and grabbed his cell phone from where it was charging, quickly dialing the number for the place.

“Hale’s Pizza, this is Peter, what can I do you for?” a pleasant voice asked.

“Yeah, hi, I have that two-for-one coupon? I was hoping to place an order to be delivered.”

Scott quickly relayed his information and placed his order with Peter. He wrote down the total--because otherwise he would totally forget how much and then look like an ass--and thanked Peter. After scooping all the change out of the jar he had on his bedside table, Scott grabbed his wallet and headed for the main lobby of his dormitory building, hoping to buy a few sodas from the machine before his food arrived.

He counted his change on the way down and accidentally whooped aloud after seeing that he could buy three drinks and still have like, three bucks for a tip. He bolted down the stairwell, through the fire exit with the faulty alarm, and ran up to the machine, quickly getting his drinks and running back in the building before the system realized the fire exit was open.

Once he got back up to his room, he started tidying up a little bit just in case the delivery guy caught a glimpse inside. He didn’t want anyone to go around thinking he was a grade A slob. Not that he planned on seeing the pizza guy again, just that he put a lot of stock in what people thought about him. Which probably stemmed from a high school career of being invisible.

Upon realizing he didn’t have any music playing, he immediately stopped, and plugged his iPod into the dock, picking some random indie playlist on 8tracks, and cranking up the volume. Scott lost himself in the cleaning and the music, his hips gently swaying to the music as he scurried back and forth across the room gathering up garbage in his trashcan and stacking his important documents on his desk.

He didn’t hear the knock at the door, or the voice hollering, “Pizza!” or even the door opening. He wouldn’t have known anyone else was there, really, if he hadn’t backed right into the guy.

“What the fu--?”

“Sorry, sorry, your door was unlocked, and if I don’t deliver the pizza, I don’t get paid, and I really don’t feel like eating or throwing away two whole pizzas, and I yelled like six times really loudly and--”

“Dude,” Scott said, lifting a hand as he reached to kill his music. “It’s cool. How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, that’s $23.71.”

“Right. Let me grab my wallet.” As he ran to his bedside table to pull it out of the drawer where he’d unconsciously put it away while cleaning, he looked at the delivery guy a little closer. “Hey, aren’t you in my Intro to Philosophy course? With Dr. Deaton?”

“Oh, yeah, I think so! Tuesdays and Thursdays, 1 to 2:15?”

Scott nodded emphatically as he walked back with his wallet. “Yeah, man. Are you ready for the final? Because I’m 97% sure I’m going to totally bomb it, plus I’m working on like seven different papers right now and I have three other exams to prep for.”

“Man, that blows. Oh, thanks,” he said, accepting Scott’s money. “Did you want any change?”

“Nah, consider it an extra tip for the trouble.”

“Thanks. Hey, did you maybe wanna study together or something? I could help you out, get you ready for the exam. I mean, we’ve got, what, like five days? I could try and help you with your essays too, if you want.”

“Oh, man, are you serious right now? That would be, oh man, I owe you big time. Here,” he said, handing the delivery guy his phone. “Put your number in and I’ll text you later tonight about hooking up.”

He watched as the mystery helper typed his information in, and found himself half-grinning. “Stiles? What kind of name is that?”

“Well nobody can say my real name and I hate it. My last name is Stilinski, so Stiles seemed like a good halfway point.”

“Cool, so I’ll text you tonight?”

“Sure thing, man, I’m off at seven, and I dorm two buildings down, so I can just head over here if you want once I get out of this ridiculous uniform.”

“Thanks, man, and hey, if you need help with anything too bring it over. I’d hate to have you help me and then not give anything back.”

“Are you kidding? You just tipped me seven bucks, that’ll buy me like, five candy bars.”

Something told Scott this Stiles didn’t need any added sugar, but he just laughed and walked Stiles to the door, waving and saying he’d see him later. As he realized he was still waving even though Stiles was long gone, his face flushed, and he decided he was really glad he’d ordered pizza tonight instead of Chinese like he’d originally planned.

* * *

Exactly three hours, thirty two minutes, and thirty seconds later--not that he counted or anything--Scott heard a soft knock at his door. He quickly jumped off his bed, straightened his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and ran to answer it. There stood Stiles, all grins and gangliness, his uniform replaced by jeans and a plain polo.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand.

“Hey,” Scott responded, staring just a little longer than appropriate. “Uh, come in. Not that you have any issue making yourself feel at home or anything.”

A light pink flush dusted across Stiles’s cheeks and neck at that. “Right. Sorry about that. Probably best if you don’t mention that to too many people, my boss wouldn’t be too happy.”

“Would that be that Peter guy that answered the phone when I called? He sounded friendly.”

“Oh, Peter’s friendly enough,” Stiles said, seating himself on Scott’s couch. “It’s Derek I’m afraid of.”

“What does Derek do?”

“Manages. Cooks. Terrifies.”

Scott snorted. “He can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but he can. He’s the boss, and he’s Peter’s nephew. Explain how that’s possible other than that Derek is actually the child of pure evil mating with the antichrist.”

“I’m pretty sure the antichrist is pure evil.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

They fell into a comfortable silence that quickly grew uncomfortable as Stiles’s phone started to ring, playing the song “Barbie Girl.” He quickly apologized and answered it.

“Lydia, I told you, I’m busy tonight. No, I can’t just cancel. So someone else will have to go ice-skating with you. Lydia. Lydia, calm down. Just call Allison. Because we all know you’d rather hold her hand than mine, especially since she won’t make you fall like I will. Look, Lyd, I really don’t have time to do this right now, but you need to get over your fear and just ask her out, okay? She LIKES you. Yes. I’m done talking now Lydia, goodbye, see you tomorrow!”

He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. So who’s Lydia? Kid sister?”

“Something like that,” Stiles said, his voice sounding distant. He shook his head and flashed his megawatt grin at Scott again. “So, what exactly are you struggling with?”

* * *

Seven hours, forty nine minutes, and thirty six seconds later--still not counting--Stiles and Scott were passed out on the couch, Stiles’s head drooping onto Scott’s shoulder, their arms smushed together side-by-side. Scott’s philosophy book lay in front of them, all of his assignments long completed.

They’d been in the middle of a heated debate on who was a bigger national treasure, Channing Tatum or George Clooney--Clooney, always Clooney--when Scott fell asleep. Stiles was about to leave, he really was, but then his eyelids won the fight, and he fell asleep as well.

The sun started peeking through the slats in the blinds, and slowly but surely, the two boys woke. Stiles awkwardly lifted his head off of Scott, making sure he hadn’t drooled, and Scott tactfully pulled his hand from under Stiles’s thigh, being careful to not linger too long or too creepily. Both of their faces were tinged pink, and Stiles stood first, making to stretch.

Scott stood up as well, hurrying toward the fridge, hoping he had something he could offer Stiles that at least mildly resembled breakfast. But when he turned around, Stiles was already gathering his things up to leave. Before Stiles could see, Scott wiped the disappointment from his face, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“So, thanks, man. I mean, I thought you were just gonna wind up helping with the philosophy shit, but you legit might have earned me As in all of my courses.”

Stiles shrugged, and grinned easily. “It was no problem, really.”

“So we should definitely hang out again.”

“Absofuckinglutely. I’m going to convince you that Channing Tatum is the greatest national treasure of them all.”

“But George Clooney exists so...”

“George had his time. Have you seen Tatum’s ass? Literally what heaven is made of.”

Scott laughed at that, and tilted his head toward the door as he headed to open it. “See you later, then?”

Stiles followed, awkwardly gripping the strap of his backpack. “Yeah. We should like, grab coffee or something later. I don’t work tonight, so I’m free after two.”

“All right. I’ll call you.”

They stood facing each other, not quite looking at each other but not staring at the floor either, when Scott finally muttered, “Fuck it,” and pulled Stiles in close, pressing their mouths together. Stiles stumbled in shock, and Scott managed to roll with the fumbling, not breaking the kiss, but rather deepening it. They pulled apart and both laughed softly.

“See you tonight, Stiles.”


End file.
